


The Sense of Movement

by arcanemoody



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Berlin (City), Canon Jewish Character, Christmas Fluff, Christmas market, Closeted Character, F/F, Gay Siblings, Gen, Gottlieb siblings being smartasses, Hanukkah, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Sibling Bonding, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21989455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanemoody/pseuds/arcanemoody
Summary: December, 2003. Their father would call this kidnapping. Karla prefers to think of it as an impromptu holiday. Hermann isn’t saying much either way.
Relationships: Hermann Gottlieb & Karla Gottlieb, Karla Gottlieb/Vanessa Gottlieb
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15





	1. Day 1: 14:30pm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Basilintime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basilintime/gifts).



“You’re sure this is going to be okay?” Vanessa asks, brow furrowed in a way that makes Karla’s lungs feel like they’re filled with helium.

“Yeah!” she replies, too quickly. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, we are a bit early.”

“True.”

“We’re a bit of a mess.”

Nine hours on a late night train, they’ve both buttoned their coats and done their best to comb their hair out of disarray. Her favorite classmate’s touched up her make-up and freshened up as much as a tiny bathroom in a high-speed rail car allows. (And still looks a million times better than Karla in her pink sweatpants and school uniform blouse).

“Also true.”

“And you didn’t tell your little brother we were coming.”

Years of practice had honed their parents’ craft at micromanaging school and holiday schedules for all four children. This year, however, there had been a loose end: Karla’s winter break started on December 12th, Hermann’s on the 19th. 

Mutti had planned months ago to pick up Bastien from his new primary school before traveling home with him to meet up with everyone else. And because this time last year, Bast’s new school had also been _Hermann’s_ school – before the whirlwind of meetings with administrators, school counselors, and advocates that led to his accelerated program at TU – she had failed to account for her _zweiter Sohn’s_ arrangements.

Dietrich had been slated to pick up Karla in Cambridge before the two of them went home, but Karla had verbally wrenched herself from that plan; pleading the case that she could spend the interim week with Vanessa and her family in London before taking the train out to pick up Hermann in Berlin. Mutti agreed, and, up until eight hours ago, that had been the plan. Before whimsy and urgency prompted her to suggest to Vanessa that they make the trip out a few days early.

It was a whim, dripping with sweaty haste -- and she still can’t quite believe her brilliant, beautiful, gorgeous friend said ‘yes.’ 

Then again, they may still be chasing the excitement of London from a few weeks ago: Karla and Vanessa and 200,000 of their nearest and dearest filling up the whole of Trafalgar Square, throwing eggs at the American president's motorcade. Unsporting of them perhaps, but pretty damn mild compared to his pulling the entire world into his war. Karla herself had been making up for lost time, having missed the chance to raise her voice at the Tiergarten Park rally months before. But Vanessa is from Tottenham and **_her_ ** _brother_ is a sergeant in the Royal Marines. He's been on the ground in Baghdad since March and Karla is many things, but she’s still German and her home country declined the invitation to America’s murderous tea party, unlike England. 

In the end, they all need this time away before the holidays bring certain realities crashing down. They are never going to have a year like this again. War, worldwide distress, answering difficult questions while four children are at four different schools in three different countries. If they don’t seize on this opportunity, it may never come again

“Yeah, but that’s all right, though! He’ll figure it out. He’s _very_ intelligent.”

\--  
  
Karla resents the way Mutti and Vater stuck her very intelligent, painfully shy, younger brother with an appointed guardian in Berlin, rather than allowing him the free movement he would be due as an emancipated minor. She no doubt resents it more than Hermann does himself, but he is disgustingly sensible for fourteen (as he was for thirteen, twelve, etc).

Frau Meyer has a nice smile and looks appropriately suspicious by the unexpected arrival of two teenage girls at the door to her Halensee flat; though still polite enough to invite them inside. Karla, for her part, doesn't trust the pearl chain connecting the middle-aged woman's cardigan. Or the way she pops three mugs of water in the microwave to heat up while she digs around in the pantry for a box of tea. She also really doesn't like how long it takes Hermann to appear from his room -- a full eight minutes after they arrive -- leaving her and Vanessa to sit on this strange woman’s chintz couch and babble about school schedules, the Coach knock-off Vanessa’s carrying, and the biscuits she purchased from Gendarmenmarkt.

When Hermann does finally appear, carefully navigating the hallway, Karla almost doesn't recognize him. He’s got a new haircut, a wool jacket, and a different cane than the one Karla remembers from last time. No doubt to accommodate the three new inches in height he sprouted over the summer. He’s taller than her now — _ihr kleiner Bruder_. She shoves the wave of injustice she feels to the side as she surges forward to hug him, grateful for the lack of stiff-armed formality she gets in return.

“Hermann! This is Vanessa. Remember, I wrote to you about her? From St. Mary’s?”  
  
She’s reasonably sure she didn’t gush in the letter, apart to tell him that Vanessa is the coolest person in her Advanced Calculus class. Also the tallest— taller than Hermann even now. Also the most beautiful, with dark wavy hair she wears loose and penetrating eyes that seem designed to make her throat ache (she definitely avoided including _that_ in the letter).

Karla also thinks she probably should have guessed what would happen as the older girl visibly waffles under the frowning visage of her fourteen-year old brother.

"Does he speak English?“ she asks.

"Hey!” she stage whispers, swatting her elbow. “Don’t talk about him like he’s not here. He’s _here_. And _I’m_ here. And we _hate that_.“

"I'm sorry!“ she whispers back.

"Don’t tell _me!_ “

Vanessa nods, clears her throat before facing him. "Es tut mir leid, Hermann.“

Hermann promptly returns the favor, turning to Karla and addressing Karla alone: _"Weiß Vater, dass du hier bist?“_

She repressess a snort. What their father doesn’t know could fill the room, fill the building, fill the downtown core of what used to be the bifurcated capital of the GDR.

“Of course he does.”

Hermann’s stare pins her to the wall, skeptical and needling. Time to switch tactics. 

"Vanessa here has an interest in biochemistry and biomechanics research,” she lays her hand on Vanessa’s shoulder, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. “She is taking a tour of the department and her parents have rented her a room in the visiting dorms for four days. Next to the one Father reserved for me, coincidentally! She has graciously taken the advance on her generous allowance and booked a room at Grand Central Hostel instead. For all three of us.“

"None of that is an answer to my question.“

Karla shrugs, feigning nonchalance while mentally counting the number of seconds she has to convince her little brother to have fun with her before his guardian returns with the bilge water she calls tea.

"It’s three blocks from here. We can take a taxi if you like. Our room is on the third floor but there‘s an elevator and we have a private bathroom — no floor-share germs, no peeping toms. It's three days before we have to go back home for the holidays and you can do _whatever you want_."

Fourteen is far too young for the skeptical stare he aims in her direction. She doubles down.

"Whatever you want, _without_ someone three times your age staring over your shoulder. Sound good?“

Judging by how quickly he jumps to confirm Karla's excuse for picking him up three days early, it does. The pride that fills her chest is immeasurable when her tiny brother tells a befuddled Frau Meyer "Mutti called to tell us that last week. Do you not remember?" 

\--

Grand Hostel is close to Checkpoint Charlie, the Brandenburg Gate, the Gendarmenmarkt, and is three walkable blocks from the visiting dorms. The house mother doesn’t so much as blink when Vanessa checks in, grabs her key, and then walks straight back out the front door. If they can find a decent cafe nearby, a good book shop, and, maybe, some decent takeaway, Karla thinks they should be in business.

“You two grew up here, yeah?” Vanessa asks, smile slipping a fraction as she takes in Hermann’s scowl.

“We’re from Bavaria in the south,” Karla replies. “Mutti’s English but she went to university here. Berliners and Bavarians barely speak the same language so, on balance, it’s amazing she and our father hooked up at all.”

“They met here then? Before the wall fell?”

Hermann’s scowl has turned to a glare, and he huffs out a breath that Karla recognizes as sensory overload.

Vanessa seems to know it, too.

“Tell you what, I’m going to ask about the laundry. Maybe find the vending machines, yeah? I’m crashing a bit and could use a Coke.”

“Limonade for me?” Karla asks, dropping a couple euro into her friend’s palm. “If you find them.”

“Of course!” she smiles, pats her friend’s shoulder before shutting the door carefully behind her.

Hermann plucks at the bed linens thoughtfully. The smallest private room in the place comes with a double-bed, forfeited to him without a second thought. His modest overnight bag is still packed and deposited at the end of his bed, neat as a pin like countless boarding school drop-offs. The dread of those experiences seems to have followed him as well.

"The room's okay, right?" she asks. “I know it doesn’t quite have the plaster ambience of Frau von Stauffenberg’s place, but, hey, we've got clean towels. And at least Van knows how to make tea--”

"Why are we here?" Hermann asks, expression unchanged.

“Because it’s close to the school and where we’re supposed to be staying. We can all pick up our messages without the house mother or _our_ mothers being any the wiser.”

"No,” Hermann repeats, “I mean, why did you bring _me?_ "

The question takes her by surprise. But she suspects that they’ve both lived with a rather unhealthy suspicion that no one else really wants them around. For some time in her case (and possibly in Hermann’s, too). She could have galavated around the city as Vanessa’s guest before picking up Hermann on Friday, leaving him as oblivious as his guardian and their parents.

"Because this is our holiday,” she repeats. “Apart from picking up whatever messages Mutti leaves, I've got no obligations to anyone and neither do you. When the hell is that going to happen again? I'll tell you: _never_. So, what would you like to do?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

“...I want to get dinner.”

“Done. There’s a place across the street.”

“Before we go, I need to make a phone call,” he reaches to dig in his bag, pulling out a mobile.

“Sure!” she grins, ecstatic as the door swings in and Van appears, a can of Schweppes in hand. “Wait, who are you calling?”

“The admissions office,” he replies, almost formal. “Setting up an appointment for a tour and a consultation with a counselor for tomorrow.”

“Hermann, she didn’t actually come here to _tour the school--_ ”

"What if your parents ask you about the school or the program? Do you really think they’re not going to have questions?”

Vanessa gawps, brown eyes wide in shock. 

Hermann sniffs. “Neither one of you thought this through. Luckily, you have me here."  
  
\--  
  
The place across the street turns out to have the best moussaka Karla has had since they left London. Vanessa asks Hermann about coding basics, which requires them to get an extra paper napkin so he can make notes. The engaged discussion makes Karla’s chest feel light and her face tight from smiling. 

So far so good.


	2. Day 1: 23:15pm

Hermann is in the shower when Vanessa finally asks the question that's been on her mind since this morning.   
  
"I’m sorry about before,” she says, shaking out her bed roll (a soft pink, femme in a way that makes Karla feel almost inferior in her threadbare tartan sleeping bag). “The talking about him while he‘s in the room? I know I misstepped."  
  
"It’s not your fault," Karla shrugs, straightening her own sleeping bag and unzipping the flap. The hostel has been kind enough to provide them both with extra pillows and this, plus their fleece pajamas should save them both from the chill of the hardwood floor. Karla's fingers are still shaking. "It's a hospital thing. He just came off a year of that. I don’t know if you know this but doctors love to hear themselves speak--”  
  
“My dad’s an oncologist. I know.”  
  
“--and if you’ve got a patient with a rare disease or condition. What they _really_ love is bringing an audience of interns to hear them speak, too.”   
  
“Oh,” Vanessa sighs heavily. “Yeah.”  
  
Three years since the first arthroscopy, Karla had nearly forgotten the impertinence of medical staff and surgeons trained to treat people like malfunctioning computers rather than sentient beings. It had been jarring for her to be confronted with it again, never mind Hermann (who, per his usual stoicism, never said a word).  
  
“Military hospitals are the worst. It doesn’t matter why the patient‘s there or what they think of it — you look up and suddenly there’s a white-coated parade coming in the door, not so much as a by-your-leave. 'Pay attention class, you’re unlikely to see this sort of thing again!‘“  
  
"That‘s awful.“  
  
"I used to stay with him at the hospital. They’d wheel a cot in for me or put up the two of us in a room with a cushioned bench. Sometimes Bast or Dietz would stay with us but, more often, it was just me. I got used to waking up during the first shift’s rounds instead of my alarm clock. I chucked my blankets off and unzipped my top one morning five minutes before they arrived, to show them just what I thought about it. Hermann shouted at me and the nurse doing morning rounds nearly slapped my face. By the end of it, I was barred from overnight visits. It turns out telling them your father works for the U.N. only makes that kind of incident _worse._ "  
  
Vanessa laughs, claps her on the back, squeezes her shoulders. “You’re mad, you know that?”  
  
Karla suppresses a shiver, stomach fluttering at the contact.  
  
"Well...what I’m trying to say is that this one's on me. I should have given you some background on all of that before we got here."  
  
"It's all right. He seems like a good lad. I just don't want to fuck up again."  
  
"Keep talking to him about coding and biomechanics. Or maths. He likes those and if you sound like you know what you're talking about, he'll warm up to you eventually."  
  
"I’ll keep that in mind,” she tugs her throw up to her chin, dark eyes peeking over the top. “Do you have any ideas for tomorrow? After my 'admissions tour,' that is?”  
  
“Find a book shop?”  
  
“ _Fraulein_ ,” she says, lighthearted with almost correct pronunciation, “it’s like we’re meant to be.”


	3. Day 2, 3:17 A.M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 in Berlin. The trio hits the shops.

_It’s ironic to call this a war against terror when fomenting terror across the world seems to be the_ _point._

_The military hospital at Landstuhl has the best surgery team outside of the UN hospital in Brussels. And, subsequently, (due to a declining Walter Reed and the locus of geopolitical turmoil) the best combat surgery. The halls are lined with soldiers as Karla stalks away from the recovery ward, tears blurring her vision. She distantly realizes her shirt is still open. The front of her is scratched raw and blotchy, as red as the blood staining the floor._

_It follows her as she reaches the elevator. Her chest heaves, filling with dread as she presses the button over and over; the moans of the injured and the nurse’s shouting only grow louder. When the doors finally open, a cloud of dust pours out, an acrid smell of expired mortar shells. The blood and dust is rising, sticking to her shoes when she finally spots the monstrous pale eyes at the back of the elevator car, surging forward…_

She wakes up gasping, a scream stalled in her chest making stars burst beneath her eyelids. Ancient instincts from sleeping in a dorm with twelve other girls.

The sweat on the back of her neck is cold and her face feels hot and puffy from the flannel lining of her bedroll. She dimly registers that her roommates are still asleep, though that won’t last long with all of the noise she’s making. Crawling out on all fours, her fingers numb, chest tight. She can’t catch her breath, but somehow she makes it out of the room and down the hall to the shared bath on autopilot (no need for Hermann to lose his private shower, just because his silly sister has night terrors).

The shared bath on their floor has three sinks, three stalls, three bathtubs. Karla throws herself into one of the latter, drawing the curtain around, letting her fevered cheek rest against the cool porcelain basin as tears continue to run down her face.

\--

The sun has been up for a while when she finally hears a rap on the door.

“Karli? Are you okay?”

Karla closes her eyes tight, clinging to the porcelain edge of the tub. A handful of bathers have been in and out since she barreled in. If any of them minded the sleepy teenager having a quiet freak-out in the tub next to them, none of them said so, but the bath has been quiet for a while. And someone has clearly alerted Vanessa to where she was.

“Knock twice if you’re okay.

Karla leans up, stretching her arm up and through the curtain, just far enough to rap her first two knuckles on the tile wall.

_KNOCK… KNOCK._

“Okay, good. You don’t have to come out right now, but we’re going to check out the lounge downstairs and see what they’ve got on for breakfast. ‘Bring you back something, okay?”

 _Nothing is okay._

Karla swallows around the lump in her throat. 

“…bring tea?”

“Sure thing!” Vanessa replies, and she can almost hear the smile; see the glister in her eyes.

Vanessa has the biggest, brown eyes Karla’s ever seen. She’s taking university-level Calculus and passed Biological Anthropology with a final paper on cellular biology that was good enough to be included in her application to both Cambridge and the Sorbonne. She’ll have her pick of where to go -- Karla knows it. And if she can’t find a way to get in, too, a year from now (wherever that might be) … she might die.

She might die anyway.

Because in a few months, Van will be gone. Her brown eyes, her pink bedroll, her soft, mittened hands and gorgeous smell. The thought makes her ribs ache and a well of despair open in the pit of her stomach. Because losing her favorite person to anything longer than a Dior Summer shoot is agony. And that agony tells her more about herself than anything else ever has.

Pain was how you know where you were (and _who_ you were). Hermann had taught her that. And, before puberty had brought broken bones and broken hearts, their father had taught them both.

\--

The sky is still overcast when she finally bundles out of the tub and into her jeans and jumper. The hostel has orange juice and croissants in the lounge and, as she peeks out the window, she spots a currywurst cart on the pavement with two familiar figures nearby. Vanessa is mid-bite when she sidles up, attempting to rattle off the ingredients…

“So _that’s_ definitely curry powder.”

“Right,” Hermann nods.

“And… paprika… That’s definitely malt vinegar, but I’m still working out the base. Karli, help me!”

Hermann’s mouth twists, a wry amusement Karla can’t immediately recall seeing in her younger brother.

“Shall we give her a hint?” she asks, nudging his elbow.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh! You little sadist!” she laughs. “I’m going to be finished with this thing before I figure it out.”

“Here, I’ll you out,” Karla smiles. “1949.”

Vanessa stares, agape, swiping a bit of sauce with her thumb.

“19—How is _that_ a hint?”

“You’d better figure it out. It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Van rolls her eyes, chewing vigorously. Batting at Karla’s fingers as she steals chips the cardboard sleeve holding the last of her breakfast. This, of all things, seems to

“…tomato ketchup?!”

“ _Ding ding ding_!”

“Heinz tomato ketchup, to be specific,” Hermann clarifies. “And Worcestershire sauce. It was created here during the Allied occupation of the city. British soldiers brought ketchup and curry powder and one of the street vendors experimented with their extras.”

“And a beloved staple was born,” Karla echoes, dramatically.

“You are both far too pleased with yourselves,” Vanessa says, crumpling her wrappers and tossing them in a nearby bin. “Where to next, then?”

“Button your coat and choose a direction,” she replies.

“Somewhere close,” Hermann replies, already walking ahead of them to the corner.

“Somewhere with caffeine, as well,” Karla grins as Vanessa responds with a ‘yesssss!’ Face tipped skyward.

\--

They find a coffee and bookshop in Kreuzberg; thousands of used paperbacks that they can either check out for a penny or buy for a euro, mismatched patio chairs and a long table where they can set all their stuff. Karla wants to throw a lasso around the place and bring it home with her. The ceiling is a seafoam green that reminds her of the last time she saw the ocean (from the window of the high speed rail as she slipped away from her school to make a beeline for the Edinburgh Fringe).

Vanessa buys her two cappuccinos with a sprinkling of cinnamon and anise sugar on the foam that warms her from the inside out.

Hermann is visibly in awe as well as he navigates the stacks. When he reappears an hour later, his face is… not "grim." Determined. Daring Karla to argue with him over a subject she can only guess (as if she would).

"This book," he says, thrusting it out with his free hand. "I want it."

“You want this one?” Karla eyes the slim volume with the pale blue spirographs on the cover. An old Faber title -- so old the price sticker on the front still lists _shillings._

“This. One.”

"Okay, so you _do_ know it's a book of poetry, right?"

Hermann’s face is definitely grim now, with a spark of resentment simmering just behind. Like embers glowing between the slats of an iron stove.

"You said that you would get me any book I wanted."

“I did say that." It had been the selling point on getting him into the shop. "And I’m not questioning it! It just surprised me. I haven’t seen you read anything that wasn’t a maths book since you were four--”

Hermann is already walking away, his cane making an irritated scrape against the tile floor.

She buys it for him; unsurprised when he promptly disappears into the stacks. When she and Vanessa go looking later, they find him situated at the back of the shop, seated on a wooden stool with his cane laid out on the floor beside him, reading quietly to himself.

Karla stares, stunned, for a long moment


	4. Day 2, 16:16pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His stare, much like the rest of Hermann, is decades older than it should be. But beneath it this time, is a well of something else, something vulnerable.

Karla and Hermann continue to wander while Vanessa meets with her admissions contact and tours the TU campus. Eventually, they settle at the Christkindlmarkt at the Gendarmenmarkt. The tiny Christmas market mells like hot cider and chestnuts, with a brief whiff of grilled onions from the bratwurst being in one of the nearby stalls.

To her delight, Karla quickly finds a stall with tins of lebkuchen—the soft gingerbread Mutti had brought home after every trip through Nuremberg when they were small. She picks out a tin for herself, plus three more for Mutti, Bast, Vanessa if she’s never had it before… She grabs hot cider for herself and Hermann who, with sheer determination, has managed to corral a bistro table in the common area with three chairs. He’s reading when she finally arrives, hands full.

“I can’t get reception,” she breathes, arranging drinks and thumbing the power button on her phone for the sixth or seventh time. “Why’s it so hard to get cell reception?”

“Loose rebar and razor wire,” Hermann replies, not looking up from his book. “A lot was hauled away when the wall came down, but there are hot spots where debris was either missed or purposely left behind.”

“Fifteen years later?”

A shrug. “Lost in the re-shuffling of government bureaucracies presumably.”

“Jesus. I hope they got all the landmines,” Karla sighs, taking a sip from her cider. “You are far too sensible for your age.”

“I’m too much of many things for my age,” he replies, setting the book down. “Believe me, you’re not the only one who’s noticed.”

“Are you having fun here?”

“At the market? Of—”

“No, not _here_ here. Berlin. Are you having fun?”

She's not used to seeing confusion on Hermann's face. He's not used to it either -- the nerves in his face clearly not knowing about which expression to make.

“I’m not really here to have fun. I’m in a program…”

“University is supposed to be more than just work, Hermann. You should try to at least have experiences outside of your honors colloquium and lab work.”

“I already got this lecture from Dietz.”

“This is not me lecturing you!”

“What do you call it then?” he asks, taking a long sip from his own cider.

“…lebkuchen?” she asks, offering the tin.

“No, I don’t trust any biscuit that comes from a tin with Jesus Christ on the lid.”

“That’s...," she glances down at the tin before brandishing it at him. "That's Albrecht Dürer, you weirdo!”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“You know Monty Python,” Karla smirks, popping the lid off the top of the tin and making the artist on the top dance. “ _Oh Albrecht, Albrecht Dürer! Du reitest durch die Länder!_ _Oh Albrecht, Albrecht Dürer! Du Held mit Deiner Bande._..” __  
  
“I honestly can’t believe we’re related. Stop that!”

 _“Gefürchtet von allen Bösen, geliebt von allen Guten, Guten Du Dürer Albrecht, Du_ _,”_ Vanessa pulls up a chair and chiming in. The passerby that evidently recognize the song cheering and applauding on the conclusion.

“You’re back!” Karla grins, hugging her friend’s shoulders.

Hermann glares. “You pronounced at least half of those words wrong.”

“I’m a work in progress, Hermann,” Vanessa replies. “Where to next?”

_\--_

The sun is setting by the time they move on. The Christkindlmarkt has a menorah out front, close to the considerably more massive Yule tree, lit for the first day of Hannukah. A sign at the base is written in multiple languages, inviting any guests who wish to attend shabbat at Pestalozzistrasse. 

“Did you want to go?” Vanessa looks to Karla, who holds her gloved hand. Minky white wool with faux fur trim. Softness incarnate. "I know that's tomorrow."

“We _could_ ,” she nods, somewhat airily, clearing her throat.

“I want to go,” Hermann says, vehement enough to surprise her. 

"...you do?"

His stare, much like the rest of Hermann, is decades older than it should be. But beneath it this time, is a well of something else, something vulnerable.

Their Opa was a Rabbi thirty years ago. Mutti’s parents had fled Molouse during the First World War and opened one of the first Hebrew schools in Cardiff. Their own family practice is nil -- religion being for men and women bereft of science, according to both of their parents. Dietz was bar-mitzvahed ten years ago, strictly due to both of their grandmothers still being alive and her parents ultimately having conflict-avoidant personalities. Karla’s bat mitzvah age had just missed the window. She hadn’t made a fuss, and her lack of ritual observance was implied to set a precedent for the two younger boys. 

But Hermann had wanted it a year ago. And, in a rare moment, had pushed when their father shoved. Karla wondered if it had been her brother’s advanced university application that forced his hand — the loss of prestige too much to bear.

“Okay then!” she smiles. 

\--

She waits until Vanessa is asleep to ask.

"You know I‘m not going to pester you on this,” she whispers. 

"You already are," he replies.

“It’s your right to go. You know that? I don't care, I don't..."

The silence in the dark is enormous, choking off her own words and bringing tears to her eyes. 

“It’s a big world.”

“Uhhh… true?”

"I want to know if there‘s something more than what I've been told about it. By father and everyone else,” he turns his face on the pillow to look down at her, as grave as she’s ever seen him, edged with a brightness of feeling that looks uncannily like hope. “I feel like there has to be.“

She smiles, lays her hand over his on the edge of the mattress.

"Fair enough.“

**Author's Note:**

> The Gottlieb siblings in cahoots -- what's not to like? I started this story a year ago and, steeped in emotions that dragged me back to my own adolescence, I set it aside. Returning to it now, a year older and with some of those emotions resolved, I'm glad I did. 
> 
> This may need another edit -- particularly my German. Any notes or feedback is appreciated!


End file.
